


The End of the Milennium

by hopingforaword



Series: After the End [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Nightmares, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopingforaword/pseuds/hopingforaword
Summary: They all have to face the new world together, and they all have to face it alone.





	1. George: Seeking Symmetry

As identical twins, Fred and George were obsessed with symmetry. As contrarians by nature, they were obsessed with asymmetry. In family photos, they were never next to each other, always placed so that if one were to draw a line directly down the middle, the line would be exactly between them. Symmetry.

 

They made good Beaters because they were a matched set. Every motion made by one could be perfectly mirrored by the other. Fred could watch the left half of the field, and George could watch the right half. If one was sick or injured, the other could still play, but not half as well as if he were with his twin.

 

Fred came out to George before anyone else. It was easy, so easy it barely even felt like it mattered. What is the weight of telling a secret to the person who’s the second half of your soul? George nodded like he knew, and Fred smiled. A little assymmetry, an invisible, tiny difference that illuminated even further all the ways they were the same.

 

They took Arithmancy because of their obsession. Math, symmetry, twins – it all had to be tied together somehow. They didn’t find any answers in the math or the magic. They weren’t quite sure what the question was.

 

When George lost his ear, Fred laughed at the assymmetry. “Finally,” he laughed, “a way to tell the two of us apart.” It didn’t matter for long.

 

There were days George forgot, and days he couldn’t think about anything else.

 

For the first time in his memory, George’s Christmas sweater didn’t have his initial on it. There was no one to distinguish him from, no one he could accidentally be mistaken for. He wished, every once in a while, that someone would say Fred. It had been such a constant of his life, being mistaken for his brother. He never would be again.

 

April Fool’s Day was the worst. Their twenty-first birthday, their favorite holiday. They had planned, during quiet moments in the midst of terror, to go to America, to an American bar, and get absolutely plastered. To take some time off and forget it all. Never, through all of their meticulous planning and weighing of outcomes and risk/reward analyses, not once had either of them considered that one might make it out alone. After George half-heartedly cut the cake, Bill took a picture of him for the family birthday photo album, and George flipped through it. Twenty years of photos of him and Fred, and one photo of just him. Symmetrical right down the middle, symmetrical to a memory. George closed the album and set it down on the table. It would be a while before he opened it again. 

It just seemed so unnatural to George that Fred had spent almost every moment of his life with George, and now here George was, at the end of the decade, the century, the millennium, looking out on an unpredictable amount of time without his brother by his side. Even the time was asymmetrical now. Twenty years with, thirty, forty, eighty years without. No more balance. He didn’t have the words to describe it.

They say two heads are better than one, and George always thought they were right, but how do you get used to being one when you’ve been two your whole life? How do you adjust? Do you, the one, become merely a half? Part of what used to be?

 

Like everyone else, George had nightmares. They started off fine. George would wake up in his bedroom in the Burrow, and Fred would be just out of bed, in the bathroom. When George got to the bathroom, he had just missed Fred going downstairs. When George got downstairs, Fred was outside. When George reached the wall of the garden, there was a chasm, unimaginably wide, and Fred stood on the other side. George yelled, and waved his arms, but Fred never heard or saw him. He yelled all the things that had ever gone unspoken between them, the result of years of living in perfect sync: “Don’t do anything stupid!” “Be careful!” “I love you!” George would get up on the wall, and then Fred would seem suddenly to be right in front of him and say, “Till the end of the line, Georgie,” and stick out his hand for their secret handshake. George would always take his hand, but when George leaned in for the shoulder bump, Fred was gone, and George fell into the chasm.

He woke up screaming.

 

George spent many silent afternoons working with his mother. They had driven each other crazy in George’s adolescence, but they had common ground now. Her brothers had been killed in the First War, and she had been only ten years older than George at the time. She knew she could never fully get it, Fred and George were twins after all, but they had this thing now.

 

George spent more time with Harry. They would go flying together, just to be in the air, just to be away from it all. Harry had lost more people than George knew he could ever conceive. George felt like he was dying a little every day, and he had just lost Fred. Harry had lost Lily, James, Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus, he had seen Cedric die, he had come so close to death himself. Sometimes George wondered how Harry didn’t go insane, didn’t kill himself with the weight of it all. He heard Harry crying some nights, he knew Harry didn’t sleep nearly as much as he should have, he knew Ginny was the only thing that was getting him to sleep at all. George never said anything. What good would it do, anyway? They all had to get through this on their own.

 

Quidditch was one of the times he forgot. Pickup Quidditch became a constant in the Burrow when everyone got too tired of the silence but didn’t know how to break it. Someone would Floo call Luna, Neville, and Angelina, and then the twelve of them would split into teams. There were only two Chasers on each team, but otherwise it was Quidditch as usual. George would sometimes get so deep into the game that when Bill would hit a Bludger particularly well George called out, “Nice one, Fred!” Forgetting was worse than remembering to George, because every time he forgot there was a moment of remembering. And the remembering was worse than just knowing. He almost fell off his broom the first time it happened. It happened less and less with each passing day.

 

Remembering was better in a sense, because George knew Fred wouldn’t have wanted to fade away. He knew it would get easier. Everyone kept telling him it would get easier. The question wasn’t if, but when.

 

He ran into Angelina after a Harpies game, waiting to congratulate Ginny. They started talking, and Angelina asked George to drinks. He agreed, then went home and tossed it over in his mind again and again. Fred’s ex-girlfriend, but George wanted to see her, but he couldn’t betray Fred. He told Angelina to her face when they met at the Leaky Cauldron that night. She smiled sadly and said that she had been thinking the same thing. They reminisced together about Fred’s finest moments, and George smiled. It had been too hard to share it with his family, but to share Fred with someone else was wonderful. He kept seeing Angelina, and they moved past Fred into each other’s lives. After game drinks became after game sleepovers became early morning pancakes in the flat above the shop. When George proposed to Angelina he told her he thought he would never be symmetrical to someone again, but he had found her, and they were symmetrical in their own way. She cried as she said yes. 


	2. Harry: Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wondered if he was allowed to want anything more. He knew that living through the War was more than he had ever bargained for, more than most people, himself and Dumbledore included, had expected. He couldn’t ask for more. Not when so many other people had lost everything. How could he ask for more, when the Weasleys, the Creeveys, the Browns would give anything for just one more hour? In a life marked from almost the beginning with bad luck, he had gotten lucky at the very last minute. He couldn’t ask for more. Not again.

Harry wondered if he was allowed to want anything more. He knew that living through the War was more than he had ever bargained for, more than most people, himself and Dumbledore included, had expected. He couldn’t ask for more. Not when so many other people had lost everything. How could he ask for more, when the Weasleys, the Creeveys, the Browns would give anything for just one more hour? In a life marked from almost the beginning with bad luck, he had gotten lucky at the very last minute. He couldn’t ask for more. Not again.

 

He wanted so much, sometimes his heart ached with it. He wanted things he had had before and could never get back, and things he had never had and never would. He wanted the anonymity he had as the Dursleys' unwanted houseguest. He wanted to be fifteen and worried about girls, not a corrupt Ministry and the impending rise of Tom, as Harry insisted on calling him. He wanted friends that he hadn’t been forced to grow up too fast because of his baggage. He wanted Remus, Tonks, Fred, Sirius. He wanted his parents. 

 

Harry wanted men. He didn’t know until after the war, until he let himself release his fear, release the sense of doom, give in to the normal parts of being eighteen, the parts that wanted someone to hold close at night, someone to make yours. When Harry opened that part of himself up, he was surprised to find how much he wanted a man, someone beautiful and strong, to hold him down, to take care of him. He had no doubt women were beautiful and strong. Having grown up with Hermione, Ginny, Angelina, Katie, Alicia, Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, having such a doubt would be blasphemy. But it was different. Hard muscles and broad shoulders and an anatomy he knew intimately. 

 

Harry wanted a family, as much, more, than he wanted a man. He knew that Molly would say he already had one. She had reassured him ten, fifteen times, that no matter what happened between him and Ginny, the Burrow would always have an empty room for him. But it wasn’t the same as the whispered dreams the two of them had. Two kids, maybe three, a little house on the border between Muggle and wizarding London. Of course, before all that there was the matter of Ginny graduating, and a wedding, but when Harry was holding Ginny in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep or woken by a nightmare, he wished they could fast forward through all that. Start their little family. 

 

There was also the need to not be The Prophet’s poster boy. Harry didn’t know what, but he knew he wanted to be caught doing something unseemly. Something that would make them back off. But no matter how many nights he and Ginny went out, got blasted, and practically fucked on the dance floor, nothing came of it. No headlines. No gossip columns. No letters from Molly (or random motherly witches) suggesting that he reign in his behavior. Just more books calling him the Chosen One, more articles extolling the Boy Who Lived Twice, more speculative pieces about his career prospects (Auror, Professor, Minister!). Every day he got offers for biographies and comics based on his life and he just wanted it all to stop. His life was barely beginning, and he wanted a chance to be more than Lily Potter’s son.

 

Harry wanted to prove himself. He had, in the eyes of millions of witches and wizards, but not to himself. Defeating Tom had fulfilled a prophecy. A prophecy he was only part of because Tom chose him as the most worthy enemy. Harry wanted to do something that was meaningful to him. Something that did concrete good, rather than simply eliminating bad. He needed to make a difference with the time that had been granted to him.

 

Harry wanted to be so much more than unlucky. 


	3. Teddy: The Weight of Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For me, Harry Potter has always been about found family, which is an inherently queer subject matter. I don't agree with any of the statements JK Rowling has made recently, especially her repulsive transphobia. I believe, as John Green said, that books belong to their readers. We owe her nothing. We have found our family; we don't need her in it anymore.

Every day, Edward Remus Lupin woke up with his grandmother’s eyes and his mother’s ability. Teddy, like Nymphadora, could change his appearance at will, those as a child his hair went more with his mood than with a coherent thought. Despite being a Metamorphmagus, Teddy had inherited his grandmother’s eyes, sunken, like a lot of the Black family, but still beautiful. Hauntingly so, some might say.

Every day, Teddy woke up with his father’s and grandfather’s names. They had both died in the Second Wizarding War, and they had been heroes, especially his father. Remus Lupin had died in the Battle of Hogwarts, a member of the Order of the Phoenix and mentor and friend to Harry Potter.

Every day, Teddy went downstairs at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to find his grandmother, sister of Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, one disgraces and the other killed fighting for the Dark side in the war. Sitting across from Andromeda was always Teddy’s godfather, Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World. Harry was known to say that he was a godfather first, a Healer second, and then, maybe, a hero third, but the Wizarding World wasn’t in the habit of listening to its icons, especially those who had defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Still, Teddy was happy and, as far as he was concerned, normal, at least as normal as a Metamorphmagus wizard kid could be. Most wizarding kids he knew had lost family members in the war, either fighting or imprisoned as a result of the extensive trial afterwards. War devastated, but people moved on. Harry himself had been orphaned by war, though perhaps, Andromeda would remind him gently, Harry Potter was not the best example of a normal child.

Yet Teddy’s early years were just that, normal. He had breakfast with Andromeda and Harry, then Andromeda took him to nursery school and later, elementary school. Because of his Metamorphmagus abilities, Teddy could not attend a Muggle school before Hogwarts, much to Harry’s dismay. Fortunately, Hermione’s position as deputy minister did not fulfill her deep need to teach, so she would visit on the weekends and tutor Teddy in Muggle subjects while Ron, Ginny, and Harry would play Quidditch in the backyard.

 

Teddy was almost six when Harry proposed to Ginny, and they agreed to be married within the next four months. Teddy was sneaking into the kitchen one day to grab a biscuit, as he knew Harry had made biscuits an hour ago before Seamus, Neville, Ron, and Dean had whisked him out for celebratory drinks, and fresh biscuits were Teddy’s favorite. He stopped when he heard Andromeda talking to Molly Weasley and Professor McGonagall. The women had come over to begin planning the wedding, as they had to be sure that Black, Potter, and Weasley family traditions were fulfilled, as well as the wishes of the bride and groom respected. Teddy pushed the door open slightly and heard Molly say, “Yes, she will have a baby,” and shut the door.

That night, when Andromeda was tucking Teddy into bed, he asked, “Is there going to be a baby?”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“I was going into the kitchen to get a biscuit. Harry told me he made fresh biscuits and I could have some.”

“Then why didn’t you come in, Teddy?”

“Because I heard Mrs. Weasley whispering and I thought that I wasn’t supposed to be there. There’s going to be a baby?”

Andromeda sighed, smoothing Teddy’s sheets as she thought. “Yes,” she finally said, “there’s going to be a baby.”

“Like Roxanne?”

“Yes, like Roxanne. But this one will be Harry and Ginny’s baby.” Teddy furrowed his brow, his hair turning white with concentration. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“Harry and Ginny aren’t married. I thought you had to be married to have a baby.”

“They will be married when the baby is born.”

Teddy nodded, his hair returning to its natural light brown as he laid down. “Okay.”

“Good night, Teddy.”

 

The next morning, Teddy sat down next to Harry at breakfast. He leaned over and whispered, “I know your secret.”

Harry sat down his mug of tea and looked at Teddy. “Now, what secret would that be, Ted?”

“I know you’re to have a baby.” Teddy smiled smugly and Harry smiled back. 

“Technically, Ginny’s to have the baby, but yes, there will be a new baby.” Teddy’s face fell. “What’s wrong buddy?”

“I thought you’d be surprised that I knew your secret.”

“It was never intended as a secret, Teddy.” Teddy’s lip quivered, and Harry opened his arms. Teddy climbed onto Harry’s lap and rested his head against Harry’s shoulder. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ginny and I were going to tell you together. We wanted to surprise you with everything.”

“Everything?”

“I’m sure Grandma told you Ginny and I are getting married?” Teddy nodded. “Well, Ginny is going to be moving here, into Grimmauld with us, and then the baby will live here, too.”

“You’re staying here?” Harry nodded. “You’re not leaving me?”

“Not for a long time, Teddy.”

Andromeda opened the door to the kitchen. “Are you ready for school, Teddy?”

“Yes!” Teddy gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too, Teddy.”

 

At school, Teddy told everyone that would listen about the baby on the way. Teddy said he hoped it would be a girl, because he had wanted a little sister for some time now, but he would still love to have a little brother, because he could protect his little one from anything. Most of his classmates were just as excited as he was; none of them had younger siblings, and a few were jealous. A rude blonde boy named Francis laughed when Teddy said his little sister. “What?”

“Just, she wouldn’t actually be your sister, would she?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your parents are dead, Teddy. This baby is not related to you. So it’s not your sister or brother or whatever.”

“That’s not true!” Teddy yelled, the roots of his hair turning orange.

Francis laughed again. “You’re like a substitute teacher, but a kid. You’re not really Harry Potter’s son. You’re just some freak he got charged with.” 

Teddy’s hair and face turned bright red and he bellowed, “Shut UP!” Teddy charged at Francis, who was still laughing. A teacher’s aide appeared between them and caught Teddy. The aide brought both of them to the headmistress’s office, and they both sat in front of their headmistress, waiting. After about fifteen minutes, Teddy heard shouting in the hallway, and Harry opened the door, arguing with Francis’s father.

“I’m saying that I wouldn’t put it past you or your son, Zacharias, to harass Teddy until he fought back and then play the victim.”

“I’m sure I don’t know–”

“Gentlemen,” the voice of Penelope Clearwater, founder and headmistress of Helena’s Junior School of Magic, cut across Zacharias’s words effortlessly. She was not much older than Harry or Zacharias, but Teddy had never seen Harry look so intimidated, perhaps excluding when Molly flew into one of her rages (which were far less common these days anyway). “Let’s set a good example for your boys, shall we? Sit.”

The two men sat next to their charges. Harry took Teddy’s hand, and Teddy looked at him. Harry smiled, and Teddy’s eyes flashed green.

“What I have gathered is that Francis and Teddy were having an argument when Teddy charged at Francis. Is that correct?” Both boys nodded solemnly.

“Headmistress Clearwater, were either of the boys hurt?”

“No, Mr. Potter, but clearly both boys are in need of a reminder of how to behave.”

“I agree completely, but as the parent, I can speak to Teddy about this behavior, rather than having disciplinary action taken by the school. There’s been a lot of commotion at home, what with the preparation for the wedding and all, and I’m sure Teddy’s a little shaken up. Of course, they’re both still young. Everyone deserves a second chance.” Teddy had never seen Harry sweet talk someone before If he were older, he might have understood the jokes Harry’s friends made about him being a closet Slytherin. Now, Teddy was just happy that Harry was on his side.

“Mr. Potter makes a compelling argument. Any objections, Mr. Smith.”

“None,” Zacharias said in a tone that Teddy was sure Harry would call an attitude.

“Very well. For today, everyone head home. But next time there will be consequences.” It was unclear if she was speaking to the two boys or their guardians. As the Smiths left, Headmistress Clearwater added, “And Mr. Potter? Congratulations.” 

Outside the school, Zacharias and Francis were waiting for Harry and Teddy. “Potter, if that lunatic godson of yours come for my son again, I’ll end your career.”

“If your son so much as looks at Teddy the wrong way, I’ll knock your teeth out and end your career.”

“Oh yeah, golden boy?” Zacharias took a step towards Harry, who reflexively put his hand up. Zacharias stopped, and the air crackled with electricity.

“I didn’t think you of all people would need a reminder of what I’ll do for the people I care about, Smith. I keep to my word. Let’s go, Teddy.” Harry threw his hand down, and Zacharias stumbled. Harry didn’t usually take Teddy via Side-Along, but this whole day was turning out to be very unusual. They Apparated into the kitchen of Number 12, and Teddy let go of Harry’s hand. “Sit,” Harry commanded, and Teddy sat. Harry sat down across from him. “Teddy, what were you thinking?”

Teddy burst into tears. “Francis said that the baby isn’t really my brother or sister because I’m not really your son so it doesn’t count.”

Harry exhaled, rubbing his face with his hands. At twenty-three, Harry looked exhausted beyond his years, even after a full night’s rest. Teddy sniffled as Harry regarded him.

“You are my godson.”

“I know that.”

“So according to the old ways, which Francis and his family clearly still believe in, at least a little, the baby will not be your sibling.”

“He’s right?”

“No. In the ways that matter, in love and caring, the baby will be your sibling. Understand?” Teddy nodded. “I need you to do something for me, Ted.”

“What?”

“If Francis say these awful things to you again, and he probably will, ignore him. I know it’s hard, impossible even, but we have to show restraint.”

“Why?”

“Because we, you and I, are different. Special. People pay attention to what we do, and they expect us to do the right thing.”

“Because you’re the Chosen One?”

Harry sighed, and Teddy walked over to Harry’s side of the table. Teddy hugged Harry, and Harry smiled. “Yes. And because of your parents.”

“My parents?”

“Remus, where your middle name comes from, and Nymphadora, who went by Tonks. They were heroes. And as silly as it is, you getting in trouble makes them look bad.”

Teddy’s eyes watered again. Harry picked him up effortlessly, most of his therapy manifesting as exercise, and set Teddy on the table.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Teddy, I love you very much.”

“I know.”

“So did your mum and dad. They wanted you to have the best life possible, and they picked me to take care of you in case anything ever happened to them.”

Teddy rubbed his eyes and smiled. “They picked the best person.”

Harry ruffled Teddy’s hair, which momentarily turned jet black. “Thanks buddy. But it means you and I have to behave extra well.”

Teddy nodded. “Alright.”

“Do you want a cheese toastie?”

Teddy nodded again. It may have been the first time Harry invoked Remus and Tonks to encourage Teddy to behave, but it wasn’t the last.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at darkmindbrightspirit and hermionejeangranger


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